


Bruised Ego

by patentpending



Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Bruises, Caretaking, Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders Needs a Hug, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, M/M, Mutual Pining, Unresolved Romantic Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-17
Updated: 2020-07-17
Packaged: 2021-03-04 21:26:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,597
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25323094
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/patentpending/pseuds/patentpending
Summary: Thomas' ego takes a few too many blows.  Janus helps.
Relationships: Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders/Deceit | Janus Sanders
Comments: 50
Kudos: 384





	Bruised Ego

**Author's Note:**

> Writer/artist collab between myself and @caffeinated-cryptid on Tumblr! We both had a Craving for roceit hurt/comfort. See their art [here](https://caffeinated-cryptid.tumblr.com/post/623850876638035968/fellas-is-it-gay-to-have-your-injuries-tenderly)!
> 
> tws for injury and blood throughout

Roman typically liked color.

The purple and blues of his best friends, the green of his brother, the yellow of his… of Janus, his own glowing, vibrant red – Roman liked color.

At least, when it wasn’t splashed across his skin.

“I told you not to read the comments section,” Janus clucks, lifting Roman’s chin with one gloved hand and frowning at the marks on his neck, “and what do you do?”

“Checked for accolades from my dearest fans?” Roman flashes a grin, wincing when it pulls at the cut on his lip, breaking open once more.

“Let’s go with your story,” the snake says, dryly, snapping open a first aid kit. “Oh, and please stay standing. It’s so much more convenient to check up on you when you look like you’ll pass out at any second.”

Roman crosses his arms, lips twisting into a pout. “It’s not that bad! Handsome princes can withstand” –

_ Hey man u spelled cringe compilation wrong, _ Thomas reads.  _ 1.7k likes. _

– “anything,” he gasps from the floor, hand pressed against the angry purple bruise spreading across his ribs.

“However could I have doubted?” Janus says, dryly, and kneels at his side. A gloved hand tucks itself under his elbow, and Roman pulls himself up in a rush of aches and vertigo.

“You may have something of a point,” Roman admits, reluctantly.

“Shock and surprise,” the snake drawls, “now can I take a look at you, or do you feel like being tortured a bit longer?”

“You can look at me anytime you want, pretty little liar,” Roman purrs, shifting back.

“Cute.” His voice flat, but he doesn’t turn to the first aid kit in time to hide the flush spreading across his human half. “What a wonderful world it would be if all caretakers flirted with their injured patients.”

Roman’s forced a laugh – too bright, too boisterous in the afternoon light, the feeling of it setting his bruised ribs to aching.

“You worry too much, my dear  _ snacc _ mamba.”

_ Ugh why is this guy so annoying, _ Thomas reads.

The first knuckle of Roman’s left hand purples and swells.

Janus lifts an eyebrow. “I can see there’s no need for concern.”

“I don’t need your help, Janus.” Roman works his jaw, pushing through the flashes of pain. “I’m fine.”

“Oh, sure, just get an infection, I suppose.” Janus rolls his eyes. “Honestly, I’m not performing open-heart surgery. You just got bruised.”

“But I’m not supposed to!” Roman snaps. “I’m not supposed to get hurt!”

_ Love you thomas but,,, no. _

A bruise blossoms across his cheek.

“I’m supposed to be his knight!”

_ Wtf. Unsubscribed. _

A stream of blood runs from his nose.

“I’m supposed to be his defender!”

_ Looks like somebody jumped the shark, lol _

His forehead paints itself – mottled green and blue.

“I’m supposed to save him!”

_ Fail _

His cheek splits open.

“Of all of you! Of  _ you!” _

_ YouTube algorithm stop giving me shit challenge _

The white of his eye colors red.

“I’m, I’m–”

“You’re shaking,” Janus says, softly.

“I’m…” Roman swallows, hard, feeling the weight of gravity, pulling pulling  _ pulling _ on every place that aches, that bleeds, that blossoms with a bruise. “I’m tired. Janus, I’m so tired.”

_ Can we please stop pretending this guy is funny now? _

His nose breaks.

Roman curls into himself, bruised and swollen hands pressed together like that could offer any relief.

Janus stands, eyes dark. “Thomas,” he says into the empty air. “Aren’t you running late to your dentist’s appointment?”

Outside the mindscape, Thomas hisses a curse, jerking backwards from his computer and scrambling for his jacket, thoughts of comments drowned in a rush of panic.

Roman blinks at him, hazy. “He doesn’t have an appointment.”

“No?” Janus almost smiles. “Whoops.”

He reaches down, taking Roman’s hand. “Come on. Let’s get you up.”

He maneuvers Roman into sitting on the bay windowsill, the plush seating a relief against his abused tailbone.

“Did you look at the others?” Janus asks, busying himself with fishing out rubbing alcohol and cotton balls.

“What?” 

“Oh, you’re right,” Janus says, dryly, wetting the cotton, “three and a half million subscribers, and only scathing remarks.”

The antiseptic stings Roman’s cheek.

He doesn’t realize he’s flinched away until Janus says “Hey, hey,” so gently it makes something inside of Roman ache.

He looks up, and there are his snake’s eyes – dark and golden, shining.

“Trust me,” he says, gently.

“Alright.” Roman swallows hard and licks his swollen, scabbing lips. “Alright.”

Janus must’ve rigged his gloves off at some point, because Roman can feel the catch of scales against his skin, the other side blissfully cold. He starts with Roman’s cheek, gently dabbing away the filth and grime.

“YouTube user Bleepus Deepus,” Janus says, “‘Favorite creator? Check. New favorite video? Check’.”

He moves on to Roman’s forehead, tucking a stray strand of hair back in place.

“YouTube user Endah: Thomas I am literally crying laughing oh my gosh’.”

He lays a bandage over a cut on his temple.

“YouTube user Ace Pixie: sir, please save some talent for the rest of us.”

The words are as cool and soothing as the bandages Janus lays on him, but they feel just as flimsy.

Roman shakes his head, a pit of something like misery in his stomach. “They don’t mean–”

“I thought you said you were going to trust me?”

“I do, I just…” He trials off, leaning into the cool hand that bandages his cheek oh-so gently.

“Poor dear Thomas has a  _ lovely _ habit of filtering, hm?” Janus smoothes the edge of a butterfly bandage over Roman’s nose. “Virgil’s influence, I’m afraid.”

Roman makes a small noise of protest, and Janus rolls his eyes.

“Not that he can help it,” he amends.

“Look, Janus, I get what you’re trying to do here, and I appreciate it. I just… you can’t  _ dismiss  _ all that negativity. All those people who  _ don’t _ like what Thomas is doing.” Roman swallows hard, pushing a hand through his hair. “What I’m doing.” He flashes a plastic smile. “Cause and effect, amiright? Crummy content means crummy comments. Nothing to be done for it, Snacc mamba.”

“You don’t deserve what they’re saying, Roman.” Janus’ voice is almost as gentle as his hands, laying a bandage on his cheek. “You’re wonderful.”

“Yeah?” Roman snorts. “And which commentator said that?”

“The most important one of all,” Janus drawls, “Janus Sanders.”

Roman can’t help his smile, even when it tugs at his too-sensitive skin. “I suppose he is rather important.”

He swings a leg out and hooks his ankle around Janus’.

The snake’s expression doesn’t change, but something in his eyes brightens as he shifts closer and dabbs antiseptic on Roman’s lip.

“They love you, Roman.”

Janus’ thumb rests, lightly, against the corner of Roman’s mouth, fingers splayed gently across his cheek and down his neck.

“We all do.”

Roman tilts his head, slowly enough to reduce the ache, and presses the pad of the other side’s thumb to the swell of his lips.

“Thank you,” he says, softly, “Janus.”

Janus’ lips twist, but the exasperation doesn’t reach his eyes. “Someone has to clean up your messes, I suppose.”

“No one else I’d rather have do it,” he says, and it feels like a confession, shimmering in the air between them.

It hangs there as Janus removes his hand with a slide of skin and scales, and Roman shrugs off his jacket, revealing his color-drenched arms. Janus focuses on his task with single-minded intensity, spreading a topical cream.

He’s beautiful like this, drenched in the golden afternoon light of Roman’s room, those eyes intent, but then again, he always is to Roman – gorgeous when his eyes dance with mischief, stunning when he hisses in annoyance, breathtaking when sits with a stolen book, humming overtures, lost in his own world.

“Janus, I…” Roman wets his lips. “I think there’s something I have to tell you.”

Surprise, confusion, wonder, delight – expressions flicker across Janus’ face like lightning, staying only long enough for Roman to make out their outlines, before smoothing into something gentler than sadness.

“Not now, Roman,” Janus asks, softly. “Not like this.”

Roman laughs despite himself, letting his head loll forward until it rests against Janus’ mess of curls. The bruise on his forehead throbs, but he ignores it in favor of the blissful cool of scales. “Of course you know,” he murmurs, free of venom, “clever snake.”

“Someone has to have the brain cell.” Janus huffs out a laugh. “Goodness knows the poor thing doesn’t get enough exercise.”

For a moment, there is just silence, and a gentle pressure as Janus wraps a compression wrap around Roman’s forearm, winding higher and higher until he’s smoothing the frayed edge, Janus’ fingers pressed into his palm.

Roman curls his fingers in – gently, as if Janus could bruise easy as him, this fragile ego.

“I’m  _ sure _ you don’t know as well.” His thumb brushes over the patchwork quilt of colors that comprises the back of Roman’s hand. “After all, I’m a master of deception.”

“I don’t, sometimes,” Roman confesses. “It’s… it’s hard to believe that someone could…”

After all, he’s a collection of bruises – a mass of pain and color, an ego more blood than backbone. And even the smallest of wounds hurt before they can heal.

But there’s a bandage wound around his arm, and medicine pressed to his skin, and a hand, curled achingly gently around his own.

“I do,” Janus says, then: “Are you alright, Roman?”

“No,” Roman says, and holds Janus’ hand just a bit tighter. “But I think I will be.”

And he was.

**Author's Note:**

> reblog [here](https://impatentpending.tumblr.com/post/623850876801548288/bruised-ego) if you are so inclined
> 
> Drop a comment for serotonin and gently roast me if you see a typo <3


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